


it's your lullaby love that keeps me from trouble

by neonnight89



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Stiles, Druid Stiles Stilinski, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Sad, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 03:35:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11119074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonnight89/pseuds/neonnight89
Summary: He’s quieter now.That’s what Scott and Lydia worry about every time they get off the phone with him.  They worry about a lot of things to do with him, but they shouldn’t.  He won’t do anything stupid.





	it's your lullaby love that keeps me from trouble

**Author's Note:**

> So I ran into a sort of writer's block on 'it's a sign of the times,' but I'm hoping to get out of the funk soon. I've got most of the next chapter written already so...yeah. Anywho, this is an awful little story idea that popped into my head about three months ago. I figured I may as well write it while I'm trying to get my muse going again. I'm happy with how it turned out, but I am so sorry to you all for writing it. Please don't hate me.
> 
> Prepare for feels.
> 
> This is a one-shot.

He’s quieter now.  

That’s what Scott and Lydia worry about every time they get off the phone with him.  They worry about a lot of things to do with him, but they shouldn’t.  He won’t do anything stupid.

\--

The bodies in the forest were husks.  Dried and shrunken things, paper skin coating solid bone.  In place of eyes were empty staring sockets and their lips peeled back to bare yellow teeth.  To Stiles they reminded him of the pack, offering small comfort twisted with something sharp.  Better left for when he wasn’t on a job.

All of the corpses had bleach white hair.

It wasn’t just flesh and blood they were after then.  Whatever creature had attacked these people (hikers, judging by the tattered clothes and pristine packs) had drained their vitality - their life forces.  Souls.  

Searching around and under the bodies, he finally found what he’d been hoping for curled in the fragile fingers of the woman’s hand.  It was a clump of fine blonde hair, a section of scalp attached, but too bloody to verify the skin tone.  Upon examination, he already had a few ideas of what it could be, but he’d consult the bestiary to confirm.  Maybe run a few tests of his own.

Tucking the mess of hair into a small baggie and placing it in his jacket, he stood up.  The three corpses were thrown on top of each other like trash.  Rolling up his sleeves, he sent a silent promise to kill whatever did this before another pile of shrunken bones was found.  The tattoos that writhed along his forearms and disappeared beneath his jacket sleeves were faded from the years of use.  He’d have to touch the sigils up soon enough.

Arms out, palms down, fingers splayed above the three victims.  His eyes closed and he channeled his spark.  This wasn’t a delicate spell.  This was brute and primitive magic, blunt and to the point.  He felt the energy light through the veins of his tattoos, like flame along lines of gunpowder.  It culminated in a burst of energy engulfing the bodies in a bright hot flame. 

They burned quickly.

He dug a hole and carefully place their ashes inside.  Then, he placed a palm on the fresh dirt and sank his magic into it.  The signal would alert other druids that this was a place of mourning.  At least until their ashes were absorbed back into the earth.  After all, becoming new life was a celebration of sorts.

Staring down at the small mound for a moment longer, Stiles drummed his fingers against his pocket.  If the monster wanted to play with souls…

Well, two could play that game.

\--

“So, where does the job take you this week, son?”

Stiles ignored the undertone of sadness.  He wasn’t exactly happy about hardly ever seeing his dad either, but some things had to be the way they were.  That place was poison. He scrolled through the bestiary as he absently answered, phone haphazardly pinched between his cheek and shoulder, “Oregon.  Hikers in the forest got drained by something spooky.  Thing was sloppy, though, and let one of the victims get a piece of it.”

“Rookie mistake,” grumbled back over the line.

A smirk twitched at Stiles’ lips, “Yeah.  Rookie.  Which is funny considering that whatever it is is probably a couple centuries old.  I’ve found police records with similar MO’s across the country, but decades apart, so no one put it together.”

They chatted for a few minutes more.  Light and superficial, skirting the unspoken opinions and questions and anger.  They’d been through those things too many times.  It always ended in not speaking for a few days before one of them broke - worried too much.  So they had learned to fall into a delicate routine of dialogue that was safe and pleasant.  He loved his dad so much for that.  Someday they would learn to talk like they knew each other again.

\--

He'd got some good leads by calling a couple other druids he'd met throughout the years. Deaton had managed to help him out after all by giving him a straight answer that included some names and contact numbers and the rest had been as a result of Stiles' charms. Most of the shamans he still kept in contact with would swear the man they traded information with now could have never been the spastic and scatterbrained teenager who'd reached out to them from a decade ago.

It had been Derek who'd encouraged him to foster his spark, actually. After the episode with the Nogitsune, Stiles hadn't known what to do. He didn't think anyone understood.  Then he’d had a breakdown at the loft in front of Derek and instead of being kicked out he'd been sat down and soothed. The grumpiest werewolf alive had spoken more words in a row than he'd ever heard before and the stream of words and feelings seeped into something in Stiles. Something broken that would never heal right. The words made patches - rudimentary and crude, but perfect. Really, thinking back, Derek was the only person who could have been exactly what he needed. That day diverted their parallel lines forever.

Stiles bit his cheek to focus back on the book in front of him. Past was past. He had people to save, like the awesome magical badass he was. That's what he made sure to tell Scott and Lydia whenever they called and wanted to visit wherever he was. He would delicately brush the idea off. Scott had his pack to worry about in Beacon Hills and Lydia had a life with Jackson in England. Even Isaac had crawled out of the woodwork to join the two 'true love' birds. Stiles wasn't about to derail their lives again after all the train wrecks that had already gotten in the way. Everyone was in a good place.

Drumming his fingers along the cover of the book, he absently nodded when he found the passage he'd been hoping for. Ugh. This was gonna be a mess.

\--

Fuck his arm hurt. Blood was streaming from his shoulder where he’d been bit.  By the crazy cannibalistic witch who’d been surviving for centuries feasting on other people’s souls. She was standing across the clearing from him, eyes pale and wide, his blood dripping from her lips. Under any other circumstance she would be beautiful, but he knew what she was. The monster beneath the lovely mask.

Her gaze was trained on the messy clump of hair he had raised in his good hand, tattoos pulsing with promise.

“You like souls, right? Do you know what a trained druid can do with a piece like this?” He raised his eyebrows in challenge. Her eyes flickered to meet his, something like concern flashing across her face. “Memories can be trapped in vessels if you have a piece of the person. Moments in time. I could do it with a single strand of hair if I were so motivated.” He waved the offending item back and forth, her eyes locking back onto it, her bloodied jaw slack. “With  _ this _ ...well, I could capture an entire soul without a problem.”

Panic blossomed as she aborted an effort to reach her hands toward him, “No. No...”

“You could stop killing other people,” he offered amiably.

Her face contorted, “I'll  _ die _ .”

“ _ They _ died.” He waited to see if there was any remorse. He would have been disappointed if he'd been expecting to really see any. “The way I see it, there are two options here. And both involve an ending.”

The woman buckled to the ground, moaning. She scrambled toward him, but he stepped back and she froze, looking up at him. When he saw her tears, all he could picture were the hollowed faces of the hikers.

Without pity, he stared down at her, “I can make it painless.” She started trembling. “But it's your choice. Die slowly and watch yourself age and fall apart or you take my offer.” He shot her a humorless smile, “I know which I would prefer.”

\--

He was still trying to clear his nose of the clogging smell of burnt flesh when his phone rang. Pulling it out, he hesitated when he saw Scott's name and picture light up. Taking a deep breath, he hit answer, “Hey.”

“Hey, man! How's Oregon treating you?”

News traveled fast. He pulled open the door of the Jeep and clambered in, “Good. Took care of the problem. On to the next one, I guess. Randy said that there might be some pack treaties that need to be overseen in Arizona.”

“Oh,” Stiles could practically hear the Scott Pout (trademarked) over the line, “I thought since you weren't too far away you might swing by? It's been awhile, dude.”

Rubbing his face, Stiles tried for lighthearted, “But absence makes the heart grow fonder or something like that, right?”

“There's a time when you need to let go and move on, though.”

Stiles blinked, “What?”

Scott swore, “Oh, god. I didn't mean...no, we're bros for life. I just...I meant...”

He trailed off and it clicked and Stiles was  _ so _ not on board with the direction of this conversation, “Okay, look man, I gotta go. Driving and it just started pouring out. I'll call you soon and we can maybe figure out a place to meet and have lunch, okay?”

There was a long pause, but Scott finally agreed and they disconnected. Stiles seemed to be doing that a lot. He winced as he stared at the straight, dry highway before him. He knew they were right, okay? He  _ knew _ it. It just wasn't as simple as that. What were you supposed to do when you were just one half of a whole?

\--

He got back to the little loft he'd rented from the elderly couple who were some sort of distant relatives to Eric, another druid who was based out of Idaho. They left him alone and he made sure to be quiet and courteous. The little loft above the main house wasn't much. More of a glorified attic, but it had a mattress tucked against one wall under a window and a small kitchenette. He had to go downstairs to use the bathroom, but it was something he could live with for free housing and privacy otherwise.

Throwing his pack onto the small desk his laptop was still set up on, he made his way toward the duffle bag that held his whole world. The wooden box he pulled out was plain and wouldn't look that miraculous to anyone who wasn't searching for it. The wards on it were ironclad, though. There were magics of burning, cursing, pain, and heart-bursting terror.

Stiles carried it carefully to the counter of the kitchenette and set it down. He laid his hands on the lid of it for a few breaths, staring down at it with a small smile. He'd completed another job. And it was time for his reward.

\--

Derek leaned against the counter, watching him. He looked as beautiful as ever. Painfully so. He was wearing an awful sweater Stiles had gotten him for Christmas when they'd first started dating. It was green and white with gold tinsel threaded through. There were silhouettes of howling wolves with red polka dot noses and trees that shimmered in the light of the kitchenette. Stiles melted a little bit upon seeing it.

“Hey, sourwolf.” He relished the hard punch that was his heart against his ribcage as he said it.

Stiles was rewarded with an exasperated roll of the eyes, “Hey yourself.” Then Derek jerked his head toward the stove, “I was about to make pancakes, you want some?”

“Is that even a question?”

Derek ducked his head to hide the fond smile and Stiles' felt emotion welling up. “I miss you.”

“You're insatiable,” was the only grumbled reply.

Stiles moved forward, “Hey, I want to try something Deaton's been working with me on.” That got an interested look, pulling Derek closer to him and away from whatever miraculous, mouth-watering pancakes he was about to start making. This was more important. Very,  _ very _ important.

He could probably hear Stiles' heart beating a million miles a minute. His eyebrows were drawing down as his gaze toured Stiles' frame, like he was expecting to find an injury had appeared in the last thirty seconds. Derek stopped a few feet away, eyebrows demanding an explanation.

A stupid smile stretched across Stiles' face as he realized for the twenty millionth time how much he loved this man. Which was the whole point of it. He shook his head, “Okay, so I know we've been dating for a while--”

“A year today.” Stiles looked up. Derek raised his eyebrows, “You thought I'd forget?”

A laugh bubbled out as Stiles shook his head, “No. I knew you'd remember. But. The point is. I wanted to tell you something.”

A wary look.

He took a deep breath before blurting, “I love you.” When Derek just frowned, he rambled on, “I mean, I've loved you for a while, but I just wasn't really sure how you felt and I didn't want to mess up what we had going on, but I thought, hey, you've been with me for a whole year and I think that means something. I know that it's a big thing and I hope I'm not freaking you out because of everything that's happened before, but I want you to know that I love you.” He took a breath and nodded, face setting with determination, “I love you.”

Silence met him as Derek stared.

Stiles shuffled his feet, “I...uh, I sort of wish you would say something here. I mean, I know words aren't your strong suit, but this isn't really an 'eyebrow translation' moment, if you--”

“I love you, too, you idiot.”

He looked up to see Derek watching him with a fond look, the edges of his lips turning up. A beam stretched across Stiles' face and without thinking, he surged forward.

The memory was shattered as Stiles' hands slid through Derek's shoulders. That was always where this one ended. The confession. After that Stiles' had gotten too caught up in sensations to really remember all the details. But their first 'I love you's? He had the conversation memorized.

Which was why it hurt so much to stare at the empty air as his tattoos stopped glowing. He grasped at his chest and a sob ripped out. After a few minutes of curling in on himself and nursing the festering wound, he stood straight and walked back toward the counter where the box lay open, a lovingly bound lock of short, dark hair resting inside it.

Stiles reached for the single strand that was resting apart from all the rest. He placed a finger on it and called the power again. Derek appeared at the counter in the ridiculous sweater that Stiles still had in his room back in Beacon Hills along with anything and everything he had shared with Derek. Those were the material items of his past life.

He watched as Derek ducked his head in a smile again to the echoes of whatever Stiles had said. He couldn't really remember the script right now. He just wanted to pretend that it was real. That Derek was here.

That Derek wasn't dead.

He replayed the memory the rest of the night until he exhausted his magic and passed out at the counter. In the morning, he carefully wrapped the hair back in with the rest before he started his trek to Arizona.  There was even a chance he’d call Scott back.

Closing the lid, he murmured a private ‘love you’ before tucking the box away.

Then, he pulled the duffle bag that held his whole world onto his shoulder, left some substantial bills on the kitchenette counter along with a polite thank you note, and he was on his way to wherever his broken life would lead.

He’d learned from a strong man that even in the face of complete loss, one couldn’t stop fighting for what’s right.  And maybe the man hadn’t said it in words or in eyebrows, but it was shown just the same.


End file.
